


Serendipity

by heartbreakerr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, time to give the world to bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakerr/pseuds/heartbreakerr
Summary: "I'll wait for you."You blink rapidly, trying to comprehend what he means."I promised to marry you," he says. "I'm not backing out of it now."You feel the sudden urge to cry. To cry and hit James Barnes until he understands you two are never meant to be. But you don't. You merely smile, and he smiles back because he thinks it's okay. He thinks you'll come back.You smile because it's better than making a promise you can’t keep.Or, you're an immortal who thinks life can no longer surprise you. But you're wrong, because a man you last saw in 1935 should not be showing up at your door in 2014.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. peony.

**Author's Note:**

> there is never a time or place for true love. it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.

"Mama, why are we cursed?”

The question is innocent enough. You can remember your wide eyes staring at your mother, patiently waiting for an answer. At seven years old you do not understand much, but you do know your mother is not a happy person. She rarely smiles, save for the ones that don’t reach her eyes, and when she speaks it’s like the softest winter breeze. 

“It’s our fate,” she replies. You don’t understand. She looks at you with a distant expression. You’ll understand later in life she never loved you. She’ll never love you the way a mother loves a daughter, because to her you are not one. You are an escape. 

You are thirteen when your mother goes to sleep and never wakes up. An overdose, they tell you. They say it must have been an accident. She must have not paid enough attention. You know the truth. There is pity in their eyes as they stare at you. It is all the answer you need. 

At the funeral distant friends and family weep for the loss of life. You do not. You know somewhere, whether hell or heaven, your mother is free. 

You finally understand what your mother means when you are fifteen. A tattoo sits on your palm. It is small, almost unnoticeable, but you can feel it there. Feel it twitch with every beat of your heart. You can recall it resting on your mother’s hand. With her gone, the curse falls to you; the daughter. 

It is the curse of all immortals. 

In the summer of 1932, you move to Brooklyn. You’re eighteen now. Living on your own is scary, but you don’t have much of a choice. It’s either living by yourself or risking it with some family you never remember the name of. Socializing is fine, but you know they know about the curse. You know because they look at you with eyes that speak more than they have ever said. So, you end up in Brooklyn in a quiet apartment working as a florist. Your mother leaves you money, too much for you to ever spend, but sitting around all day has no appeal to you. You need a sense of purpose. 

In that same summer you meet him. 

You meet James Barnes. 

He’s fifteen with a stupidly annoying smirk and far too much confidence. He’s fifteen and thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He’s fifteen and does not know what fate has in store for him. 

Steve Rogers is the one to introduce him to you. You’re his neighbor after all. You meet Steve as you move in, struggling to carry a box up, and he offers to help. His arms are so small and his hands too weak you fear you’ll break him. You accept his help anyway; grateful someone wants to. Together, you lift box after box, and by the time you both are done the sun is setting and you’re covered in sweat. You offer Steve a milkshake, and he follows you like a puppy from then on out. You don’t mind. Having a friend is nice, especially since you didn’t want to be alone. Steve may have only been fourteen, but he is surprisingly mature and easy to get along with. 

“I’m telling ya’ Buck; she’s great,” Steve says on a particularly warm afternoon in July. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Steve, you’re the only person I know to get along this well with old people,” he replies. Steve punches his arm, but Bucky doesn’t bother to flinch. It doesn’t hurt and they both know it. 

“She’s not old, she-”

“Steve?”

Both teenage boys turn to look at the voice. It’s you, standing there with vividly pink flowers and dirt across your cheek. Steve smiles and waves. Your flower shop is small but homey. Business is not booming, but you have a steady stream of customers. 

“Hey! I want to introduce you to Bucky,” Steve says, giddily walking up to you. It takes him a moment to realize Bucky is not following him. Steve pauses, turning around in confusion. 

In his defense, Bucky is expecting you to be some old, homely woman with too many cats. His jaw falls as he sees you. You’re gorgeous, beautiful – he can feel his brain begin to short-circuit. 

Is this love?

“Oh, yes, Bucky. I remember you telling me about him,” you reply to Steve. You set the flowers in the vase, pulling off your gloves to meet them. Bucky, who is beginning to blink into reality, nearly stumbles over to greet you.

“James,” he says, holding out his hand. “Most people call me Bucky, but you can just call me James.”

You laugh, reaching out for his hand, and laugh harder as he places a quick kiss to it. Bucky should feel offended by your amusement, but he’s too busy thinking about the way it makes your eyes scrunch up and face glow. 

Steve is mostly confused on what’s happening.

Especially when Bucky declares he's going to marry you.

"Bucky, do you really think she'll marry you?" Steve asks on the way home after they both leave you. Bucky slaps him on his back.

"'Course, Stevie. She's gonna be my wife someday."

Times like this are simpler. You miss them when they are gone. Long for them to be your reality again. It’s not. It will never be. Fate is unkind, life is cruel, and you are to live with both forever. 

\---

Bucky and Steve become a constant in your life. There are, sadly enough, your only friends. Meeting people is not difficult, but many think it's weird for a woman to be owning a business. Sure, they buy from you, but respect is never there. You can tell by the way they look at you.

You begin hating those looks at nineteen.

Bucky still tries impressing you at every waking moment. He brings you flowers he picks from the sides of the road and has his sisters help him wrap a bow around it. He knows you love flowers, and he wants you to love him like that. You don't. At least not now. He's sixteen, and while it's only a three-year age gap, he feels more like a child.

"These are the sunflowers I was talking about," he says to you in April of 1933. You smile at him, the same comforting way you always smile, and happily accept the gift. Your eyes light up and he feels warmth crawl through his chest.

"They're wonderful Bucky," you breathe, fingers tracing the brightly yellow petals.

"James," he says, “I like it better when you call me James."

You know he's flirting again. No matter how childishly awful he is at it, you can't help but think it's cute. Bucky is a good-looking boy, and you know as he matures, he'll only become even more handsome. You think whoever he ends up with is a lucky person.

"James," you say, “thank you."

His face burns, but he is so happy. He thinks he's falling in love with you every second you simply exist.

It's a shame, the fact young love is unmeant to bloom.

\---

"You should just come dancing with us," Bucky says, moving the large pot of pink flowers to where you're pointing. "It's just you, me, and Stevie."

"And Steve's date," you add, pushing hair out of your face. You're a bit surprised. Partly at the fact Steve has built up the courage to talk to a girl, but mostly because James doesn't have a date. "Shouldn't you have one too? Steve has one so I thought you would."

"I could've had one." Bucky shrugs nonchalantly. "Turned her done, though. I’d rather go with you."

You shiver at the autumn breeze brushing your bare arms. It's October of 1934, and you're starting to feel the air chill over. It's colder than usual for this time of year. You finally turn to Bucky, a thoughtful look on your face.

"Just this once, okay?"

Bucky wraps you in a hug so fast you nearly tip over. He's taller than you, not that he wasn't before, but now he's so much larger compared to you. You feel tiny, but his hug reminds you of the sun and you gingerly hug him back.

"Thanks, doll," he says as he pulls way. Bucky's seventeen and beginning to understand how girls work. He's surer of himself; he has more tact. At least in front of other girls. But you? He can't help feeling like that fifteen-year-old boy tripping all over himself as he meets you. He silently commits the way you smell to memory. You smell like the earth, something soft, and clean laundry. It's weird, he knows, and while he tells Steve everything, he'll never tell him about this.

"Anything for you, James," you reply.

If only you meant it.

\---

The winter of 1935 is colder than you anticipate. The wind is harsh enough to seep beneath your clothes and into your bones. It makes your jaw clench as you stare at Bucky's face.

"So, you weren't gonna tell me?" he asks. You don't reply, but your silence is all the answer he needs. "I'm just supposed to find out from Steve?"

You can tell you've hurt him. You've been doing that a lot recently. Pushing people away is your mother's thing, not yours. As you grow older, you understand. Understand why she doesn't let people get close. Understand why she never tells you she loves you.

By next year you'll stop aging. All immortals stop aging at twenty-two. Perhaps it is fear of the unknown, or fear you'll become as hollow as your mother, but it is fear, nonetheless. Bucky and Steve will age. They will grow old and wither away. You will be left alone. While they rot beneath your feet, you will see the future be built upon where they once laid to rest forever. It's terrifying, really, how unforgiving time is. It hacks away at land, destroys anything in its path, but never will it harm you.

That terrifies you more than anything.

"I'm sorry." You can't think to say anything else. Leaving is not the only option, but it is the only option you're willing to take. You know you're just running away from your problems. You know this will only haunt you.

"I'm sorry," you say again, and this time you're unsure what you're apologizing for.

Bucky is quiet for a long time. Silences with him never last long, and they are never this heavy, but you're too scared to break the tension. He does it for you.

"I'll wait for you."

You blink rapidly, trying to comprehend what he means.

"I promised to marry you," he says. "I'm not backing out of it now."

You feel the sudden urge to cry. To cry and hit James Barnes until he understands you two are never meant to be. But you don't. You merely smile, and he smiles back because he thinks it's okay. He thinks you'll come back.

You smile because it's better than making a promise you can’t keep.

\---

The pounding on your door is what wakes you up. It's too early, you think as you grip the blankets closer to you. Too early for some salesperson to be walking around. The knocking stops, and you almost doze back off, but then it returns with a vengeance. You crack open an eye, trying to focus on the digital numbers on your nightstand. 3:02 AM it reads. The knocking only escalates the longer you wait, so with a dramatic sigh, you throw the bed covers off and shuffle over to the door.

Living for over one hundred years has taught you to be cautious. Fate is harsh, but humans will always be crueler. You peek through the peephole, spotting the body of a built man. A cap rests on his head, effectively hiding his face, but there's something familiar about him. Maybe that's why you decide to toss caution to the wind and slowly open the door.

You notice his eyes first. They're blue, a pretty shade, but it's not the color that makes your blood run cold. His eyes are lifeless, vacant, and it makes you want to shut the door. His face prevents you from doing it.

Your apartment door creaks open as your eyes widen in surprise. It can't be. He is dead. The last time you saw him was 1935 and now, in 2014, he should have long since been gone. But he is there. Your-

"James."


	2. daffodil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an extra note, the main plot takes place after the winter soldier. it may or may not follow bits of civil war, but will not be inifinity war/endgame complaint.

You aren’t sure which you find more unsettling. The fact a should-be-dead-man is sitting at your dining room table, or the fact you’re still calm. Maybe if this occurred forty years ago, you’d freak out, but not today. Today you want to sit in a bubble bath and sip whine. Perhaps not deal with men who should be dead, but you don’t want to seem picky. 

Bucky doesn’t say a word. He remains sitting and watching you across the table. He’s not the same, you can tell. There’s something about his haunted expression that makes the hair on your arms stand. 

“You’re not the James I know, are you?”

He stares at you for a long time. You almost think he’s not going to answer when he finally shakes his head. The limp strands of hair falling over his forehead. 

“No,” he says, and suddenly you realize he’s nothing more than a shell of the person he once was. 

“Do you... remember Steve?” you ask because you don’t want to ask if he remembers you. You know his answer.

“I don’t remember anything,” James says. “I don’t even know why I’m here.” 

You nod, tapping your fingers against the table. Bucky moves his gaze from you to the sunflowers resting in the center. You wonder if he knows they’re there for him. There’re vivid memories of him handing them to you every day during the spring, always smiling and telling you they remind him of you. You wonder if that Bucky is still in there somewhere. 

"Does anyone know you're here?" you ask. A part of you hopes Steve does. You know he'll be able to help Bucky. 

"No."

You nod your head, a headache tingling in the center of your forehead. You're too old for this. It'd been a difficult enough task to explain to Steve Rogers why you aren't dead. Apparently having an immortal walking around never crosses his mind. 

It's no surprise that Steve calls you. His voice trembles on the other end. Bucky's eyes narrow at you when you pick up your vibrating cellphone. You show him the phone calmly, hoping to not have an angry grown man with a metal arm snap your neck. Not that it'll kill you. At least, not permanently. 

"It's Steve," you say, hoping to decrease his anxieties. "I'll put him on speaker, okay?"

He gives a short pause, before nodding again. At least he doesn't seem to be planning on throwing you out your window. 

"Bucky isn't dead," Steve says, breathing heavily. 

The Bucky across from you stares harder. He's wondering if you're going to sell him. Wondering if you're going to drop him off into Steve's arms and leave. You suck in a deep breath. 

"What... what do you mean, Steve?" you ask slowly, your mouth feeling like cotton. 

Steve rambles, trying to explain to you that Bucky is not the Bucky you both knew. How he's been brainwashed by Hydra and what’s happened in the last few days. Your headache worsens as you listen, but your stomach is in knots as you he explains what Hydra has done. You feel ill.

"I think he might go to you," Steve says. 

"Steve, I don’t think-" 

"He was in love with you. Some part of him has got to remember."

"Wha-" Bucky starts, but you cut him off by coughing loudly. You send a quiet prayer that Steve didn't hear him speak. You think your heart might stop if Steve finds out you're lying. 

"I'll tell you if I see him, Stevie," you say quickly, trying to end the call. 

"Thank you, doll," he says so softly it crushes your soul. Lying to Steve, the softest man you know, hurts in an unexplainable way. 

"Always," you reply and hang up. Finally, you pinch between your eyes, trying to ease up the ache. Time to think of something.

Bucky remains silent after his short outburst, eyes locking on to the sunflowers again. He has a lot on his mind, you're sure. Especially with everything Hydra's done to him. Your blood boils at the thought. They've stripped him of his identity, of his love for dancing and cooking, of who he is; leaving nothing but the hollowness of a man who once was. 

"What'd they do to you, James," you say out loud, surprising yourself. 

"I didn't come here for your pity," he manages to grind out. He stands to suddenly the chair he's sitting on flips back and falls with a clatter. The air stills; neither of you move. 

"Why did you come here?" you ask. There's nothing for him at your house. Nothing but vague memories and the girl he once swore to love forever. 

"I... I remembered your face when I saw it. You were in one of Hydra's files," he says. "Said you were an immortal, something like that. You looked familiar, and I remembered those flowers."

He glares at the sunflowers so hard you think they might wilt. It's not surprising Hydra's been keeping a file on you, even though you assume they've died years ago. Someone existing this long doesn't go without notice by people like them. You feel naïve to have thought it does. It doesn't answer how Bucky's found you.

"It’s a start. We can work with that."

Bucky grunts, refusing to pick the chair up and sit back down. Tension sits heavily on his shoulders like waves. A part of you wants to pull him into your chest, tell him to calm down. You doubt that'll work on this Bucky, though. The silence stretches on for a few more trickling moments. You break it again. 

"We can't stay here," you say with finality, looking up at him. 

"We?" he asks lowly. 

"Of course," you say, smiling just slightly," can't just throw you out."

You think Bucky might want to smile back at you, but his expression only relaxes a bit. He still seems on edge. You don't blame him. 

"Don't worry, I know the quickest way to leave America."

People owe you plenty of favors, so finding a jet to use isn't a difficult task. Getting Bucky on to the plane is the hard part. He's not excited to be walking around in broad daylight, even with a cap and giant hoodie on. You keep his hand in a firm grip, too nervous to let him slip away. Bucky says nothing about it. 

His hands are rougher, harsher; they're not the same boyish ones that used to shyly hold yours. 

You pull Bucky on to the private jet with you, sending a quick nod to the woman who's letting you use it. She doesn't look very happy, but you saved her mother's life; they at least owe you this. Besides, she's rich enough to buy another. 

"They let you use this?" Bucky asks, obviously impressed. You drop his hand as you get into the pilot seat. 

"You'd be surprised at the amount of people in my debt," you respond, flicking the jet on. Bucky takes a seat next to yours. You can remember learning how to pilot around thirty years ago. Hopefully you're not too rusty. 

It's mostly silent as you lift off. The only actual noise is the whirring engines and whips of wind rolling past the jet. Bucky chooses to stare at the clouds going by. 

"I have a safe house in Romania," you say casually, barely glancing at him from the corner of your eye. You doubt he has anywhere else to go. Bucky remains silent, as though he's thinking of something else. "I have more, you know, if you don't like Roman-"

"He loved you?" he asks, interrupting you. You feel your eyebrows twitch together. 

"Who? Steve?"

"No, Bucky. He loved you," he replies, eyes gluing themselves to the window. 

"You are Bucky," you say, confusion evident. Why was he referring to himself as though it isn't him? 

"He's not... I'm not him," he says, and somehow the look on his face feels like an open wound. It hurts more than any death you've been through. 

"You are him, James," you whisper, trying to not cry. You're not even sure why tears are welling up in your eyes. You haven't been through what he has. In fact, maybe being immortal isn't so bad when you compare it to the torture Bucky must've been through. What he's still going through. Not remembering who he is, the fact he's sitting next to a stranger. You know him, but to Bucky you're nothing but a familiar face next to a flower. 

"I'm not," he says into the thick air. "I don't need your pity, either."

"Okay," you finally say because you don’t want to cry now. "It'll be fine. We'll be fine."

You're not sure if Bucky believes the lies you tell him, but he relaxes and so do you. A part of you, the dark part that's been creeping around your brain for years, thinks he should have died all those years ago.

Another part agrees.


End file.
